


Damaged Coda

by SandyQuinn



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: "Evil Morty", Gen, I mean it starts from right at the end of the episode, Minor Violence, Prequel I guess?, Spoilers for Episode 10, Weird and angry teenagers, alternative universes i guess, but i wanted to explore how they got there, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandyQuinn/pseuds/SandyQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rickest Morty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damaged Coda

Somewhere out there in some parallel universe among countless parallels universes there is a Morty who just manages to throw the deciding punch, duck the right way, say the right thing and survive, more or less. Somewhere out there is a Morty whose terrible grandfather finds in his miserable heart a second of coherency or a fraction of empathy and isn't having a bad day, who says the right words and does the right thing and that Morty is more or less okay, more or less safe.

More or less happy. 

Some day, Morty thinks, he might find that specific version of himself and shoot them in the face. Screw them. 

He thinks about the scar on Rick's face and the spittle when he shouts and the endless, descending madness, but he doesn't really feel anything knowing that his grandfather is dead now, killed by an avalanche of hysterical alternative versions of Morty. He just finds it hard to switch to a past tense. It doesn't matter. Morty more or less killed what he was _ages_ ago, when he cut open his head and twisted _this_ and  _that_ and made him  _obey -_

Morty doesn't like remembering those times because it inevitably ends back to the fear that stopped only when Rick stopped shouting at him, when he had no more family to worry about, when he learned, conclusively and definitely the lesson that everyone was out for themselves and no one else. You hit or be hit. 

He watches as starved, beaten and cowed versions of himself tear his now-useless grandfather apart and he despises them because he, Morty, handled this man  _alone_ when he was actually _dangerous_ and not just a dumb exaggerated caricature of himself. They all deserved to be tortured. 

C-137 Rick is just as stupid for not realizing that. The Rickest Rick indeed.

The countless alternative universes span before Morty's eyes in a visual demonstration as the Council of Ricks: and yet it's all the same, countless mad eyes and spindly limbs that lash out like whips that make Morty want to grasp something heavy and beat until everything is silent, fix it like he fixed his own world, and he's glad when he's sent to a Rickless universe. It is not his own but it'll make do. 

No one pays attention as he sets up a lab in the garage. 

 

* 

 

He's never found out, conclusively, what happened to his parents, or why so many people wanted him and Rick dead, or if they even did, whether Rick just made it up in his mad little mind so that he could keep on moving. But Rick is all Morty ever remembers having, ever since he was little. His life feels like a series of sharp snap-shots, his senses rubbed raw from constant overuse, his reflexes like that of a soldier - a familiar gravely drunken voice barking orders, and Morty feels his spine straighten and stiffen. 

There are a couple of good memories stashed away, plucked and caressed in the fifteen years of Morty's life on the run with his grandfather. 

He remembers when he first talked to Rick about Jessica - expecting ridicule or dismissal - and they sat quietly floating above the clouds as he tried to explain in a halting voice, soft so he wouldn't stutter, what he felt, the new and queer sensation of his heart squeezing in his chest, trying to say without words how much he wanted Jessica, anyone, to care about him: like it could wipe away the things he'd never confess to Rick. Rick had looked regretful but he'd been kind, then. Less so in the aftermath, obviously, but Morty remembers forever that quiet dim light and his grandfather explaining that love is a chemical reaction no one escapes from.

Morty thinks he might have loved Rick, loved him like some inescapable disease. Everything on that front is dulled down, like it's hidden under a glacier, but he remembers crying so hard that he threw up, before and after his gory deed. He remembers the feeling of being torn between feeling safe and having no more Rick. He's still not sure if what he did was the right decision but he remembers cold hard fingers around his throat and with it mingled together is the memory of hot breath on his neck, everything messed up together like a stack of cards out of order. Memories are confused, melding together into an upsetting blur of adrenaline. 

It feels good to push away the emotions. He wonders if this is how Rick feels all the time, if this is why Rick told him he was the Rickest Morty there was. 

Some other memories: Being twelve and being taught how to use gun, his grandfather's hands steady and warm then, a voice telling him to prepare for the kick. 

Rick in a good mood after a successful escape, letting the ship fly itself as he smiles and closes his eyes like a content old tomcat, letting Morty pick the music they listen to. 

Nine years old, when Rick explains him the concept of Christmas as he roasts a carcass of a bird-like creature with six wings and gives Morty a bracelet with a little portable hologram map of the galaxy. Morty barely sleeps that night, lies awake and touches the stars with the tips of his fingertips until Rick tells him to get some rest. 

Morty remembers the exact moment his bracelet breaks, a little before his fifteenth birthday on a dusty arena in some alien world, shattered against the ground as Rick kicks him down, and it's just for show, they have a plan to get out and Rick needs to pretend, but the blood starts pounding in his ears. It never stops. 


End file.
